


Your Roots are Showing

by Sunflower82597



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Bokuto is a good bro, College AU, Coping Mechanisms, Depression, F/F, Getting Together, Insomnia, Kenma keeps a patio garden, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partying, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, and Hinata plays ukulele and sings with kenma, gratuitous bad language, kuroo is smitten already guys, platonic cuddles, this fic is pretty much just self serving tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9568268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunflower82597/pseuds/Sunflower82597
Summary: Kozume Kenma enjoys having the ability to retreat after a long day of stressful classes to his patchwork of a sanctuary, created by the comfort of plant life, companionable cups of coffee, and softly sung melodies. Of course, things can't always stay perfectly stagnant, much to Kenma's chagrin and Kuroo Tetsurou's delight.It really is just fate, that the two were meant to meet, after all.





	1. It's Just Fate After All

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! Long time reader, first time poster, yadda yadda. I've had this idea swimming around in my brain for a while, and I finally jotted it down, and decided to share. It is mostly for my own enjoyment, as I adore Haikyuu and all the lovely stories I've had the honor of reading. Hopefully it's received well, and you all enjoy it! I'd love to hear your thoughts, comments, and so forth! 
> 
> Any updates will probably be slight erratic, due to my obscenely busy university schedule. But I will try my hardest!
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy!

_"Did you sing softly to me, whisper words in my ear? So I sit and I think of you. So I sit and I wonder who you sing songs to now."- Wild Child, Winter Pockets_

 

~❀~

Kozume Kenma supposed that living in an apartment wasn’t all that bad. He shared his living space with his best friend, Hinata Shōyōu, who was essentially the opposite of Kenma, but in all the right ways. They had a decent sized living space that allowed for two people to have some wiggle room; it was the fifth building, nestled on the third floor corner in their gated community. The compound itself was generally well kept, shrubberies and flowerbeds always seasonally groomed and maintained throughout the week.

The inside of their shared flat was a bit different. Perhaps dirty wasn’t the right word, but instead it was a little bit cluttered, mismatched, and probably could use a good vacuuming. A large entertainment center was pushed against the living rooms main wall, every nook and cranny of it filled with games, consoles, accessories, and movies. The controllers were always littered amongst the ground or pushed against the couch, generally forgotten about after a long night of games, or watching Netflix together. A small table was used for homework purposes more than dining—unless scratch paper and old graded assignments made for good placemats. The surface was almost always overflowing (save for when certain guests were coming over, i.e. parents) with an array of clutter: chewed up pens/pencils, textbooks, laptop, occasional bottle of booze, a pack of hand-rolled cigarettes long since forgotten; almost everything and anything has been sucked into the tables circulation of stuff, with intention of sorting through it later (though, later has yet to really come). Kenma would like to think it was mostly Shoyou’s clutter, but he knew better.

Posters lined the walls, mismatched in types and size. A few scattered family photos placed in neat frames were on shelves or on free wall space, especially useful for when those pesky waves of family-oriented nostalgia came over the boys away at college; the feelings that made a gut twist painfully and tears prick in the corners of the eyes; the sort of feelings similar to that of being wrung out and left to bake in the hot sun—shriveled and vulnerable. Kenma didn’t look at his often, though Shoyou did sometimes when he called home, even if he had skyped them just the night previous. It was endearing, in a way, how much he cares for his family. It almost made Kenma jealous, but Kenma wasn’t keen on those types of feelings, and usually snuffed them before the flame grew and smoldered any brighter.

Their neighbors were sometimes (all the time) noisy, which would bother the young man early in the morning. He already had sleeping problems as is, so the exuberant neighbors on the level superior to theirs, with their loud foot steps, bass music, and random squawking at four am, didn’t help the matter.

Of course, if Kenma wanted to be critical, then he could point out the flaws in his living arrangement; the sink was always drippy, the dryer liked to eat clothes, and he had party animal neighbors, but things could always be worse. It was a community teeming with college kids, after all, and Kenma was not about to let such trivial things crack his carefully composed façade of indifference.

Kenma’s favorite part of his shared flat; however, was probably his screened in patio. He tended to a small garden out on his sunny patio, the bright floral and greeneries nestled happily on shelves and tabletops. He found the methodical practice of tending to his arrangement of herbs, succulents, ferns, and florals relaxing and therapeutic. He would assign each type of plant with a name or perhaps after a worry of sorts, using the potted marvels as his coping method for his social anxieties and associated depression. Having something to care and work for helps the young man with handling his daily activities. His once therapist mentioned the idea to him, and it was the only real method, besides any sort of medication, that helped; it was something that got the boy outside in the sun, gave him something to talk about, gave him an active way of doing something constructive with his time, and showed him that even through his struggles with people, he can make something beautiful.

He found the he liked their colors and textures, each different in their possession of expressive personalities, through their growth and flowerings. He would sometimes whisper, in secret, to the curling tendrils of leaves and stems about his day and any new friends he might have made, or how school was going, tentatively running the calloused pads of his fingertips along the edges of each potted morsel. He would start his rounds by maybe looking over at his morning glories, or insomnia, noticing their blooms tucked and folded protectively in their hanging plantar, shying away from the bright afternoon sun. He would then poke carefully at the spine of a cactus, that he sometimes associated with himself or his social anxiety, feeling its’ spiny rigidity; its’ unwavering, prickly ward of protection and security, before having to take a breath and appreciate its’ integrity and strength, and the fact that even the prickly things can bloom, and offer beautiful flowers. Perhaps while he as there, he would stare at the stone crawlers that shared the terrarium space with his cacti. The succulents were in full bloom, the startling fuchsia petals surprisingly soft and velvety in texture. They reminded him of Hinata, in their ability to grow and bloom from nothing, from concrete, each flower a startling color and brightness that resembled the redheads smile and personality; warm and comforting. Kenma marveled at the plants ability to make friends with the cactus, the crawling, fleshy vines, happy to curl around the cacti’s spines, encroaching on the space with a synergistically warm embrace. It was just that—synergistic in mannerism—that allowed for the balancing of personalities, and the harnessing of every unique aspect that allowed each characteristic its outward expression.

Even now, as he runs his the length of his palm down the underside of his fern, a small smile tugs at the corners of his usually pouty, plump lips as he tended to the plants needs. The sprigs of green were happy to listen to the young mans woes, worries, and secrets; happy to soak up the attention given and the UV light that glowed from the hot sun. He enjoyed these quiet moments of solitude, and the porch quickly became his sanctuary of sorts, a safe place to go after a long day.

He spent most of his time out there by himself, no matter what time or type of day. Usually it was early mornings, after rolling out of a fitful night of sleeping, before the heat of summer made the surrounding air sticky and unbearable. He would observe the sky bleed its colors onto the massive canvas, completely captivated. Twilight swirled and bleached into bright blues, oranges and pinks, a gradient of awakening.

He had started to allow his sanctuary to have visitors, usually meaning only Hinata, or on rare occasion, Akaashi, enjoying the companionable silence or friendly, excitable chatter, sometimes choosing to share a stress reliving smoke from the abandoned box of stogies, or several bitter cups of coffee, necessary to get them through the next brutal rounds of classes and testing.

More recently; however; it was spent quietly humming or singing along with Hinata. It started out slowly, as most of Kenma’s hobbies do. Shōyōu had learned the ukulele (which was entirely too well fitted of an instrument for his personality), and was more than eager to join in Kenma’s relaxation time on the porch. The redhead would strum and hum as he watched Kenma tend to his garden, no matter the time of day—after classes during the day, after a sweaty, grueling practice at night, in the stifling heat of summer afternoon, or the frigid air of autumn—he would always come find Kenma if he wasn’t already outside, all the while having a huge grin plastered across lightly freckled, rosy stained cheeks.

It was when Shoyou proposed a duet to Kenma, a silly little love song he knew Kenma enjoyed, that he started to join in, quietly singing along with his companion, a small, shy, quirk of the lips present on embarrassed flushed cheeks. It became a regular occurrence from then on, where Hinata would bound home from practice or class, pausing only in his haste to pick up his ukulele case, before storming the patio and plopping in his favorite pink plastic lawn chair. He would begin strumming and tuning as he waited impatiently for Kenma to make the evening tea and set it down on their small patio table. Once it was set down, the energetic young man would start his song of choice, and if Kozume knew the words, he’d join in as well, either holding his steaming mug while scrolling through his phone, or placing his tender hands on his plants.

It didn’t matter the time of day, or what the weather was like—if the neighbors were too loud, or if the day was agonizing, long, and stressful—the pair could always depend on one another to be there when the time was right. And, in its patchwork entirety, their sanctuary was perfect.

 

~❀~

Kuroo and his buddies had a reputation that did, in fact, precede them; they were indeed inclined to party, no matter the consequences. They didn’t believe they had a problem, per se, not really anyways. It was just their ideal way of stress relief. Like how some people decided to knit and reap the bountiful reward in the form of a garment, the boys decided to party and stay up until the wee hours of the morning, and their reward for doing so was the lime green vomit they spilled into their toilet bowls from drinking too much tequila. The hobbies honestly weren’t that different from each other. Both supplied a little bit of fun, a little bit of challenge, a surging migraine and a pain in the neck. So, if one asked the ravenette or his equally bird-like companions if their hobby was constructive or detrimental to their health, they would probably just flip them off, and continue on like the heathens they were.

So, when they weren’t having a party at their apartment complex, or attending one elsewhere, it was a little strange to comprehend and made Kuroo a tad bit stir crazy. His head would start to buzz, his knee would start to bounce in agitation, and then he would hoist himself up and around the entire vicinity of his shared flat, checking if anyone’s hangover was bearable enough to actually go and do something.

On this particular day, no one was feeling it. Even his equally enthusiastic, catalyst, night owl of a best friend, Bokuto Koutarou, wasn’t re-energized with the promises of greasy fast food; the silver haired man was preoccupied with nursing an ice bag to his forehead in attempt to subdue a hangover headache, mumbling about how sangrias should be illegal for tasting like fruit punch.

Left with no other option, Kuroo sighed and clambered out onto his patio, his pack of smokes and lighter in tow, choosing to ignore the frigid autumn air that engulfed him. He plopped harshly in one of the mismatched, flimsy fold out chairs, sticking a cigarette between his lips. He gummed at it for a moment before lighting the end of it and sucking in a harsh breath, holding it in his lungs and mouth for a moment before blowing it out in a harsh puff. He chose to people watch, observing safely from his fourth floor perch. Kuroo watched the college kids unload their groceries, no doubt composed of microwave ramen and cases of beer, and then his gaze would follow the movement of people walking their dogs.

A quick shock of orange hair was bounding out of a dilapidated looking car, the short body zipping across the parking lot and into the stair well of their shared building, and he quickly recognized the flurry as Hinata, the strange little spiker that plays on his volleyball team. He wasn’t intimidating in the slightest, with his boisterous, sunny, aloof personality that matched his equally sunny hair, compared to any of his other teammates, who liked to wear the ‘tough and unconquerable’ aura like a second skin. On the court; however, was another story entirely. Despite his size, he was a giant, with his agility, flexibility, and jumping power; it was a true marvel, and it made him a monster on the court—a wicked force of nature that demanded to be reckoned with, and it made him just as intimidating as any of the tall, powerful players—a fact that made Kuroo respect and genuinely like the small spiker.

Kuroo knows his team well, and the redhead left quite an impression on anyone he meets. More recently, Kuroo noticed that their setter, Kageyam Tobio has it pretty bad for the kid—his partner in crime, with their oddball coordinated spikes and strangely good-natured animosity—even if he denies it, or wont admit to it. Kuroo speculates that this is why he’ll join the Rowdy Bunch for a drink every once and a while, though whether the addition was to drown his sorrows in alcohol, or because he actually liked their company, Kuroo wasn’t entirely sure on.

He could hear the shrimp bust into his apartment, since it was right under his, and chat amiably with his roommate, and judging by the soft voice, was much more quiet and reserved than his roommate. Just as like the front door swung open downstairs, their patio door suffered the same fate at the hands of the redhead, the hinges forced open suddenly, the wood banging harshly against the wall before slamming shut with a loud clack. Bright humming was followed by the plucks of guitar strings, though they sounded much higher, like a ukulele, much to Kuroo’s surprise; he wouldn’t have figured Shōyōu as the musical type.

A giggle that gurgled like the freshest spring—light and carefree—rang in Kuroo’s ears, making the dark haired man momentarily forget about his dwindling cigarette that was pursed between his lips. Kuroo presumed that the secondary voice must have belonged to the redheads’ enigmatic roommate. Kuroo had never gotten a good look at the kid, only catching glimpses of the back and sides of his face, (or sometimes the top, since the other was quite small, in cases where the short boy ducked under and around Kuroo or his friends that had a tendency to clog walk ways) since he was always shielded behind his strangely dyed hair, face cast down and behind the shiny follicles, like a silky privacy screen. Conversation was definitely out of the picture as well, as headphones were always shoved in his ears and turned up at deafening volumes, his attention cast at his phone or handheld game.

So, the fabled ‘Kenma’ as Shōyōu refers to him as, was a bit of an elusive creature, which peaked Kuroo’s curiosity. He let his imagination run wild, picturing what the face behind the hair actually looked like. Was he cute? Plump lips and large, doe eyes, framed by long lashes? Or would he be surprisingly handsome? With a strong jaw and striking, dark irises?

His pondering was interrupted by the soft count down from three, then the strike of chords hit Kuroo’s ears and the pair started to sing. He wasn’t sure what the song was, as it sounded to be in English, but it was hypnotic. Shōyōu had a surprisingly gentle tone, like sticky amber that was captivating and solid, that complimented his companion well, as Kenma’s voice was delicate and sweet, voice like liquid birdsong. Kuroo had forgotten to breathe and quickly had to suck in a breath to prevent him from choking on the smoke that curled out of his mouth and upwards towards his nose. He was captivated, completely enraptured by the melodies and sweet strums the music unfolded. He lost track of how much time he actually spent outside, only stirring from his spot when he was called inside by his roommates plea for hangover cuddles, but he knew that he wanted to hear more from Shōyōu and Kenma; he knew that he wanted to possess the ability to place a face to the ambiguous being that had such a lovely voice. It was just a matter of how.

 

~❀~

Kuroo had started bringing Tobio out to the patio when the duo downstairs played throughout the day, after figuring out their pattern of get together. It was almost like clock work; he would see the flash of orange during the afternoon running upstairs, or evenings after practice, and then would hear the loud characteristics of a slamming door, excitable chatter, and then the procession of voices and song.

The ravenette had first dragged his equally dark haired friend out to the patio, much to his friends’ chagrin, not happy with being rushed to clean up at the gym, ditching his plans at practicing jump serves, and then pushed out the door and into the car, still in half of his uniform.

“Kages, really. Just two seconds outside. All you have to do is be quiet and listen, which is easy for you, ‘cause that’s all you do anyways—“ Kuroo ducked out of the way of a swat aimed at his face, “—then you can go de-funk the nasty gym smell that you dragged home with you.”

Tobio gritted his teeth and his eyebrow twitched before releasing an exasperated sigh, following behind his triumphant friend to the patio. The two plopped down in adjacent chairs, Kuroo procuring his pack of cigarettes from his gym bag and lighting the stick between his lips. They sat in silence for a few minutes, staring out the screen of the porch at the setting sun. Kageyama’s eyebrow started to twitch in irritation again, and he threw up his arms in a ‘What? Why am I out here?’ gesture.

Kuroo’s ear picked up on the soft voices below and he began to bounce his knee in anticipation. Blowing the smoke out of his mouth, he held a single finger to his mouth to shush him, and then pointed downwards. He whispered, “Be quiet and listen.”

The two strained their ears in concentration to decipher the voices heard below, picking up the familiar count down from three, then the beginning strums of chords and the soft, melodic voices. Kageyama blinked over at his friend, receiving a catty grin in return.

“That’s… That’s Shōyōu?” Tobio whispered to Kuroo. A nod of the head was given in reply, and the young man returned his gaze to dividing floorboards that separated the levels.

The pair below continued on in a blissfully unaware revere, unaware of their upstairs audience. The dark haired boys sat in companionable silence for the duration of the little jam session, not wanting to disturb the other as they fell away into the happy sounds of music, content on watching the last glimmers of day slip into twilight night sky; the only light that visibly disturbed the darkness emitting lowly from the smoldering ember of Kuroo’s cigarette end. And just as it became a habit for Kenma and Shōyōu to spend the evenings on the porch, it became a habit for Kuroo and Kageyama as well.

 

~❀~

It must have been fate.

Or at least, Kuroo would like to speculate.

He was sitting in the large lecture hall of his first class, Anatomy and Physiology I (which was held way too early in the morning for his liking) tapping his pencil idly against his notebook and scrolling through his phone, not bothering to pay much attention to the lecture that was taking place in the front of the room. Luckily enough, the class was only fifty minutes each class meeting, but was three days a week, which made for a quick class and an even quicker get-away after dismissal. Just as the professor was wrapping up the last closing statements, they changed gears and pulled up a slide to be projected on the large screen in front of the room. It was a detail of a group project that needed to be done in groups of four to six, and was a required, hefty graded assignment. The class all groaned at the prospects of having to spend unnecessary time with one another, while also simultaneously panicking at such a large grade, their professors gentle shushing and dismissive, placating hand waves going unnoticed.

Kuroo perked up from his seat in the back and quickly looked around the room, locking eyes with his friend Bokuto who held his hand in a thumbs-up agreement to work together.

“…I’m dismissing you a bit early to go find group members… but if you are having trouble formulating a group, I’d be happy to help set you in one!” their shared professor, Takeda-sensei called out from the pit of the room, over the loud voices of the students already getting up and talking to other classmates.

Bokuto was already pushing his way towards Kuroo with a large, excited grin, dragging three other people behind him. He instantly recognized the moody face of Tobio, and the tired, equally as grumpy looking Akaashi, who was dwarfed in comparison to their third roommate, the silvery headed Russian, Lev. Kuroo felt himself grin widely at his friends.

“Well that was easy, huh?” he smirked, nudging Bokuto in the ribs. His friend gave him a shit-eating grin, “Well these two were an obvious choice,” he pointed at Kageyama and Lev, “and he was an obvious choice, ‘cause, well… he’s actually smart,” he laughed, scratching at the back of his eccentrically dyed head of hair, causing the other three to smack at him, irritated at his insult.

Kuroo laughed as well and nodded in agreement, before noticing the familiar fluff of auburn hair that had appeared in his peripheral. He peered to his side and down at his fellow spiker and middle blocker. The short boy smiled sheepishly at the group and rubbed a hand through his tangled, unruly locks.

“Hey, so I don’t know anyone else and I need a group, so can I please, please, _please_ join yours?” he begged with a pout, hands shoved in his pockets. Kuroo’s brain short-circuited as it processed the short boy’s request. If Hinata was in their group, and they were all forced to work together, would that mean that there would be an opportunity to get to see Hinata’s roommate? A small smile curled at the corners of his lips as the prospects of finally being able to see ‘Kenma’ with his own eyes, finally putting his dumb curiosity to rest. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to peer at Tobio briefly, and his smile turned into a wide smirk; it seemed like he wouldn’t be the only one benefitting from the newest addition to their group. Kuroo snickered once he noticed the dumbstruck look on his roommates face and then looked back to Hinata.

“Sure, shorty. Welcome to the club.”

Hinata let out a whoop and jumped in the air like the over-excitable oddball that he is, tight jeans riding down low on his hips, his t-shirt bellowing with the sudden rush of wind, exposing the light tanned skin of his stomach and an auburn trail of hair leading down to the edge of his jeans. Kuroo could literally start to hear Kageyama start to hyperventilate. He cackled and slapped Tobio harshly on the back, bringing the poor kid back into reality.

Akaashi sighed and smiled a small, fond smile at Shōyōu, before addressing the rest of the group, “Well, where should we start? It seems like it’s going to take some time to finish this up, so we might as well get started as soon as possible."

They all hummed in agreement and thought for a moment, before Lev piped up, “Well, we can meet up today, in the evening, after practice? Probably not at our apartment though… it uh… needs to be cleaned up a bit.”

Bokuto, Kuroo and Tobio nodded grimly in agreement, inwardly cringing at the currently filthy state of their flat; they really should put in more of a collective effort to keep the place looking nice.

“Oh, oh! I have space at my apartment! We can all just meet there after practice! My roommate and I keep it pretty clean, and there’s plenty of space!” came Hinata’s bubbly voice, his hands waving around to gain the attention of his group.

That peaked Kuroo’s interest, and he felt his heartbeat pick up in excited anticipation. It worked out so well; this was how he was going to meet that elusive, pudding haired kid. He silently said a silent prayer to thank the gods, and blessed the stars up above for looking out for him.

A wide grin spread across his cheeks and they all agreed to meet, slinging their bags up on their shoulders and marching off in the direction of their next classes. Kuroo couldn’t help but feel giddy, whistling as he sauntered his way to his next classroom, earning him quite a few gawks and stares. He could care less in that moment, as things couldn’t have worked out more perfectly. It really must have been fate.


	2. Chapter 2: Peaks and Troughs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! So, I'm completely in awe that people responded so nice to this story???! It makes me so incredibly happy to see even a handful of people read it, but two hundred!? That's incredible, and I'm honored that you all took time to read it! So thank you! xoxo to all of you lovely people!
> 
> Sorry for the minor delay on this chapter. I found that I had a tad bit of difficulty getting it just right, though I am somewhat satisfied with it now! 
> 
> As always, thank you bunches for reading, and any comments, kudos, and the likes are appreciated! I love hearing your thoughts! Let me know if you see something off, something doesn't make sense, or if there's any mistakes!

_“I've been sleeping around your house all week/ Slowly edging yourself closer to me/ And I've been keeping a safe distance, I didn't need…_ _It all tumbles above, and I peaked and I troughed.” - Peaks and Troughs,_ We Were Promised Jetpacks

~❃~

Kozume reclines in his chosen plastic chair, back already stiff from the uncomfortable rigidity that the seat had to offer; he paid it no mind, much too tired and content to bother switching seats or getting a cushion, his hands occupied with holding his steaming cup of black coffee in chilly hands, his mind fuzzy with haziness that often comes with early, bleaching sunrises.

He hadn’t slept well, which the act in itself wasn’t entirely surprising, but it was the leftover feeling that had settled over him that began to concern him. It wasn’t like anything was entirely out of place—he had checked; he wasn’t missing anything, all of their belongings in their respective places, just like always. Shōyōu came home on time, same as always, and he had checked his plants, just like he always did. He wasn't forgetting any important assignments, like he never did, and he ran he errands the day previous, much like he always did. But, something had nagged at the corner of his mind, a sense of something he couldn’t quite place, which just made for further uneasiness, irritation, and worry.

He tossed and turned, his body begging for solace, for a respite from continuous awakenings, for the young man to just take comfort in his downy sheets and soft pillows, but his mind liked to be finicky and difficult, making for little to no rest.

Once the digital clock that sat on his nightstand hit 5 a.m., he sluggishly rolled out of bed and into his house slippers, trudging through his apartment and into his small kitchen, going through the motions to prepare the morning coffee, hoping that the caffeinated beverage mixed with bright morning light would be enough to wake him up for the day.

With trusty mug of scorching hot coffee in tow, he makes it to his sanctuary outside on the porch and takes a seat. After a few careful sips, he glances over at his plants and the familiar feeling of _unknown_ settles over him again. It makes him uncomfortable, not being able to identify what he’s feeling; he takes pride in being able to fully understand himself and his emotions, even if he doesn’t outwardly portray them properly yet.

His honey colored eyes rake over his montage of plant life, and begins to think of their representations, trying to narrow down what he could possibly be experiencing.

He doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

Kenma stews for a long while, taking lukewarm sips of his coffee, mind unaware of the fact that his beverage has finally begun to cool too much to be considered borderline disgusting. His eyes grow unfocused and cloudy, staring off into the expansive sky of altering colors; soft periwinkle skies bleach and warp with the rise of the sun, pink and orange hues casting over thin, whispy clouds. He shakes from his minds wandering when a chill settles over him, his hand warmer not up to par with the crisp morning air; he finds that he likes the crispness of this morning, it’s helping his level of alertness rise, at least, and he would rather reprieve in sweet smelling air that meant approaching autumn, than the stale, sticky dewiness of harsh summer.

The young man can't seem to shake the feeling, though he has figured that he feels a sense of _dread_ , like something about this unknown feeling will lead to another something to _happen_ ; he believes he’s on a cusp of something new and unusual, something that will change his life somehow, and this is some strange form of premonition anxiety-- that his current set of habits will be disrupted and changed, for better or worse, he's not entirely sure. He finds it strange and unwelcomed, and he tries to push the feeling down, disregarding it as just stress and lack of sleep. Strangely enough, he soon forgets about it, allowing his mind to succumb to the euphoria experienced with a fresh sunrise, the colors and freshness as welcomed distraction, his bones warming and body softening to the promises of a new day.

It’s where he finds himself, a lukewarm cup of coffee in tow, that morning, body and mind a miasma of temporary nirvana, when things start to _peak and trough_ for the first time in years, finally breaking away from his stagnated plateau he called his routine.

He just wasn’t aware of it yet.

~❃~

_(He peaks)._

It’s still relatively early in the morning, when he departs for class, tired feet dragging his small body across the concrete grounds. His eyes still burned with the over exertion and lack of rest that was depraved to them, making his vision blurry and unfocused; he’s sure he looks just as terrible as he feels, all dark, crescent moon bruises under his eyes and drawn in skin. He sighs and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms, a lengthy sigh escaping from his nose.

He needs a(nother) coffee.

Kozume changes his direction, readjusting the simple, black backpack on his shoulders, letting his mind drift to autopilot as he walks the familiar path to the college café. Once he reached its’ vicinity, the comforting, stimulating smell of coffee and fresh baked pastries reach his nostrils, and he lets a small tug of a smile form on his usually pouty lips.

The chill of AC hits his warmed skin, and it’s a relief, as he was beginning to sweat from wearing a cardigan over his shirt; he had overdressed for the weather this morning, getting too carried away in the sensation of approaching autumn, that he pulled on a light, olive green cardigan over a striped black and white shirt that was lightly tucked into a pair of black jeans. He regretted his clothing choice, even if he did look nicer than usual, due to the near sweltering heat that breached the air early into the morning hours.

The cashier gives him a customary greeting, her demeanor looking bored and impassive as she straightens from her hunched over position from behind the counter. He kisses his teeth as he peers at the board of drink choices in contemplation, and settles on a simple iced caramel macchiato, in hopes that the beverage will help him cool off from the drastic wave of end-summer heat, while also giving him a pleasant caffeine buzz. He digs around in his bag for his wallet and spare change, pulling out a few crumpled bills and coins, setting them on the counter for her to pick up and count through, her look becoming more disgruntled than anything at being handed a mess of cash.

Kenma feels slightly flustered and steps away from the counter, heat rising uneasily to his cheeks; he tucks his head down and pulls out his phone, fiddling awkwardly on the device in hopes to draw attention away from himself. It takes only a few minutes for his drink to be placed on the counter with a grunt of ‘come again’, and he quickly scoops the beverage up and makes a hasty retreat from the store, back out into the sweltering heat of the day.

His skin heats up quickly once more, but the cooling effect of the drink helps soothe him, the flavor of sweet, milky coffee flooding his taste buds. He sighs contentedly through his nose, walking at a leisurely pace in the direction of his class, the prospects of the day already seeming to improve.

The young mans gaze is intent on his phone—though he checks his path for anyone else walking—his small hands gliding around his screen to check his apps, when he collides full force with a rushing body. It feels like one of those moments that seemingly defies time, where everything slows down into a frame-by-frame play; his chin smacks into the top of a head, tufts of hair sticking to the saccharine caramel that clings to his lips from his coffee. He jolts away spluttering, causing the grip of his right hand to slip, his coffee sent flying out of his hand and into his chest, thoroughly soaking his shirt and cardigan, while the grip of his left hand loosens on impact, his beloved technology skidding across the concrete pathway.

The two freeze in the middle of the walkway, both minds processing what had just happened, before the shorter of the two begins to have a _small_ breakdown. Kenma stares down at his clothing, his fallen coffee and phone, and he feels so close to _livid_ , his face screwing up into a pinched, angry scowl, his gaze flickering to the offender.

It was a girl, short and timid looking, guessing by how hard she’s quaking as she squeals out her apologies, hands waving in front of her in strange gestures, trying to convey her sincerest condolences by also doubling over repeatedly in a hunched bow. He fixes her over with a scrutinizing look, and notices that her clothes hadn’t escaped the wrath of his spilt coffee either. She had her bob of pale blonde hair, her fringe braided and pinned over out of her large, doe-blue eyes, which were currently wide and brimming with unshed tears. His piercing gaze immediately wilts, and he sighs; he knows it was accident, and he really can’t deal with people crying, immediately feeling bad and uncomfortable for making someone so upset, finding that he isn't the most comforting person in the world.

He calmly walks over to his phone that was lying in abandon face down, and picks it up, inspecting it for any cracks or damage. He inwardly sighs in relief, happy to miraculously see no damage done, just a handful of small scratches on his screen protector, which will be easy to change and replace. He sticks the device in his pocket and glances at the girl who is digging furiously in her oversized purse, pulling out random pieces of paper, pens, and coins. She scribbles on the back of an old receipt, and thrusts it, along with a handful of crumpled bills and coins (Kenma almost smiles, remembering how he handed over his coffee money this morning in a similar fashion) out to Kenma to take. He blinks at the offering, opening his palms to allow the small coagulation of things to be dropped into his awaiting hands.

“P-p-please accept this as an apology! And give me your sweater! And your phone number!” she pauses in her shakily given demand, tacking on a quick, “Please!”

His eyes squint in curiosity and confusion, “Uhm… Okay…? Why…?” he says slowly, dropping his backpack to the ground and shrugging of the soiled piece of clothing and tentatively handing it over.

She takes the cardigan and makes room in her bag for it, holding in her hands all the materials she didn’t wish to get soiled with the impending smell of stale coffee. “I’m going to get it cleaned! I gave you my name and number, and now I need yours so I can contact you after it’s good as new!”

He feels his face begin to flush and he fidgets his weight from foot to foot, beginning to get overwhelmed. “Really… it’s fine. There’s no need—“

The girl shakes her head 'no' almost violently; her eyes squeezed shut and lips pursed in denial, “No! Let me do this please…” she deflates, “I feel so bad for barreling into you so carelessly. I should have been paying better attention. My mom always used to chastise me for being clumsy when I rush like that,” she flushes and scratches at her cheek, “So, please let me make this right!” she chirps, extending a hand. “I’m Yachi Hitoka!”

The young man stares at the hand and decides to shake it after a moment, “Kozume Kenma,” he says quietly, the same familiar feeling of uneasiness returning to him from that morning on the porch; the feeling that _something is happening, something is going to be different_.

She smiles warmly at him, all bright and sunny, moments of panic erased from her disposition, her eyes scrunching at the corners in sincerity, and it reminds him very much of Hinata; he can't wait till the evening to retell his day, he’s sure that the redhead will get a kick out of it.

“Now, all I need it your number,” she says simply,

He nods his head and pulls out his phone, typing in her number and pressing the ‘call’ button, so that his number will be sent to her phone. She hums in confirmation at receiving the phone call, and he couldn’t help but ask out of curiosity, “Why were you rushing anyways?”

She blinks owlishly for a moment and the glances at her phone’s time, and pales. “I was rushing to get to class to study before hand for a bit… but now I only have five minutes until class!” her voice rises in a crescendo of worried stress, and he checks his own phone for the time, internally cursing at the time; he only had a few minutes to spare as well.

They bid each other farewell, promises of keeping in contact about the sweater, and wishing each other a good day and good luck in their next class. He reaches his classroom with a minute to spare, his professor almost done finishing up his preparations. He quietly slips into his seat, feeling the stares of a few classmates on his back, probably judging him for the large, unsightly coffee stain he was sporting as an accessory.

When someone leans over to whisper to a friend, “Do you smell coffee?”, Kenma wants to die, and he tucks his face down closer to his notes, doing his best to concentrate on the lecture.

_(He troughs.)_

He couldn’t concentrate, as it turns out, and ends up getting incredibly confused on the subject material, which just furthers his despondent attitude. As soon as they were dismissed, he shoves all of his materials into his bag, slipping out the classroom quickly and heading home.

It’s still scorching hot outside, making his skin prickles with uncomfortable warmth as sweat beads against his back and under his arms; he feels _disgusting_ , smelling like sweat and old coffee grounds. As soon as enters his apartment, he drops his things off at the kitchen bar counter and heads straight to his closet for clean clothes for after his shower.

He peels each article of clothing off of his body with an irritated scrunch of his nose, though he was happy to finally be relieved of his horrid smelling clothing. He runs a bath, setting the water to a comforting warmth, pouring an ample amount of body wash into the streaming water. He glances at himself in passing in the mirror and pauses to take in his features. His pouty lips are chapped and gnawed on from bouts of nerves, and his roots are starting to look a little ridiculous, his hair a little long. But he looks healthy, _much_ healthier than he has in a while, and he’s grateful for his friends encouragement and kindness that helped remedy his determination for feeling better and doing better. He walks to his tub and toes at the soapy, bubbly water, a small smile twitching at his lips as he steps in and sinks into the warmth, submerging his body completely.

The stress from the day is almost seemingly leeched from his body, leaving his bones soft and pliable, his skin freshened and preened clean by fussy hands. He turns on his showerhead before his tub gets too full, washing his two-toned hair clean, leaving the strands silky and wavy. He turns off the water as it starts to chill as the hot water begins to fade, and steps out into the surrounding steamy air when his skin starts to prune at the finger tips. He dries off thoroughly and slides on his clothes, a pair of old, short volleyball shorts (which he later discovered were women’s, though he didn’t mind, they fit nicely), and a simple, oversized t-shirt that hung off his shoulder, exposing the enticing skin of his neck and the divot of flesh around his clavicle. He blow dries his stringy hair till it’s just barely damp, rubbing a special leave in conditioner for his dyed locks, and then braiding the hair into two, springy twin tails that perch cutely on the sides of his head. He leaves a bit of his fringe untucked to frame his face. Kenma glances at his reflection and nods in affirmation at his look.

He turns his glance to the pile of clothing on the floor and he grimaces, deciding to take care of this mess before the stains turn permanent, and the rest of the laundry while he was at it. Kenma hums a small tune in the back of his throat as he gathers his laundry basket, a song named _Julep_ by the Punch Brothers, which he wants to share with Shōyōu. He steps into the aforementioned redheads room and grimaces at the sight. There’s clutter on the ground, ranging from volleyballs, books, worn clothes, and dirty dishes. He sighs more in endearment than in irritation, knowing how Hinata gets when he’s busy; the boy is practically a hurricane, and his room is evidence of that fact.

He picks up the dirty clothes on the floor and places them in his basket before picking that up as well, nose scrunching at the familiar smell of sweaty gym clothes, floor wax, and capsaicin muscle rub. Kozume makes quick work dumping the piles of laundry into the washer, which was located adjacent to the kitchen, in a small, cramped room, pouring a generous amount of detergent into the running water to rid the fabrics of lingering smells; the loud whirr of the machine drowning out any noticeable noise in the apartment as the contents were violently shaken into a vortex of soapy water. He steps out into the kitchen and checks the digital time on the microwave, pleased at the time; Shōyōu would be home soon, and that would mean the young man could vent about his day and relax for a bit.

Kenma lazes around on the couch for a few moments, scrolling through his phone, before he gets the idea to start making snacks and tea in preparation for Hinata’s arrival home from practice; the thought of his beaming smile and excited titters as he stuffs his face makes Kenma let out a breathy chuckle, which he quickly smothers with a hand over his lips.

He walks over to the noisy kitchen area, collecting fruits to peel and place in pieces into a large bowl, as well as peanut butter to dip the fruits in for a little added protein, and he sets his electric kettle to boil for a few cups of tea.

The young man is just finishing up peeling and slicing the last apple and placing it in the bowl when he hears the tell tale sign of the door opening and slamming back into place. He feels a smile tug at his lips as he sets the snacks on a tray, as well as his favorite mug. “In the kitchen!” he calls over the rumble of the last cycle of the washing machine.

( _He peaks.)_

He hears the small shuffle of feet approach the kitchen, as he stands on his tippy toes to reach for two mugs, turning around to ask Hinata, “Which mug do you want for tea--?” he pauses in his question, eyes widening as he sees someone standing next to the redhead. He blinks after realizing it’s Akaashi, and he greets him with a polite nod and a small smile, “Oh, Akaashi. It’s nice to see you… I didn’t realize you were coming…over…?” he trails off, gaze flicking upwards to the small crowd that gathered behind the two other men; he balks at them, catty eyes wide in surprise as he startles, almost dropping the mugs.

They were _huge._

He gaped, eyes flickering between his two friends and then the four strangers that clogged up his entryway. Kenma quickly shut his mouth with a click of his teeth, realizing his was staring and being stared at, ducking his had and cursing the fact that his hair was up. He glanced at the sheepish looking Hinata, who was rubbing a hand through still damping looking locks.

“Uhm…so, we have this project in one of my classes, and it just so happens that I have it with a lot of my teammates, so we decided to be in a group together and we have a meeting today and I said it was fine to come here, since we have room, and I totally forgot to tell you, and I’m so sorry—“ the red head rambled quickly, large ochre eyes begging for forgiveness, thoroughly making Kenma’s eyebrow twitch in exasperation, and he quickly cut Shōyōu’s panic off. “It’s fine Hinata, I understand. Just try to remember to tell me next time.” He murmured softly, almost going unheard over the rumbling of the laundry machine.

The sunshine haired man turned to his teammates with a lopsided grin, “So, uhm! This is Kozume Kenma! He’s my roommate! He’s really smart and _really_ good at video games! He’s like, my best friend,” he declares unabashedly, hands on his hips, “So be nice to him. I know where you all live,” he points two fingers at his eyes then at the group, pointing at members of the groups, who snickered at the failed intimidation tactic.

He turns to Kenma, and starts pointing at his teammates, who all give a small wave and greeting of their own, and he records their names and faces into memory. When he points to a tall raven haired man, easily two heads taller than himself, he’s taken aback at the man’s appearance; he has wildly dark bed-head, an easy grin, and handsome facial features, though it is the intensity of his stare that takes him aback, though when their eyes meet, the man freezes, his smooth looks faltering as a slight flush graces his lightly tanned skin, appearing to become flustered for some reason.

“This is Kuroo Tetsuro!” the redhead chirps, and the ravenette can barely register what the kid was saying, too absorbed in finally discovering the appearance of Hinata’s enigmatic roommate.

It was worse than he thought.

_He was beautiful._

There was definitely no denying that, and he found it hard to describe the boy in any other way.

It was interesting, seeing him this close and unguarded, it almost felt as if he was taking advantage of the other’s vulnerability, of his unguarded barriers he obviously secures in place at all times, but he couldn’t help but feel giddy at the opportunity, and once more, he blessed the heavens for hair ties.

He felt his heartbeat quicken and pound in his chest at his first glance, his blood rushing audibly in his ears at finally seeing the peculiar roommate. His eyes took in every detail of the mans appearance hungrily and greedily, noticing the plump, pouty, pink lips that were opened slightly in shock, to his flawless, unmarred pale skin of his face, and the exposed column of his throat and indention of his small shoulder, to the slightly curvy legs that were exposed under tiny, well fitted shorts that peeked beneath his oversized shirt. Kuroo swallowed thickly and forced his gaze to the other’s face, eyes traveling to wide, cat like eyes that were strange in color—an amber, honey color, sticky and captivating, the wide orbs framed with dark lashes and cradled by crescent moon bruises; he briefly wondered if the other didn’t sleep well. They made the smaller man look exhausted and almost bored, after his expression was masked back into indifference, lids heavy and lips set back into a pout.

Kuroo blinked once he reached to the mans strangely dyed hair, though it was strangely fitting, and reminded him of something…

A cough brought his thoughts back to reality, and he blinked, realizing they caught him staring and he was just introduced to Hinata’s roommate. He felt his face flush, and he quickly grew embarrassed, blurting out the first thing on his mind, “You’re hair looks like pudding!”

He clicks his teeth shut and horror immediately takes over his already frazzled mind.

_‘Oh shit’,_ he thinks forlornly, eyes flickering to Kozume and then to his teammates that looked at him in a mix of shock, pity, and like he was an idiot (which he was, he realizes this almost immediately afterwards). The room sits in an awkward heavy silence, the only sound breaking it was the loud _‘buzz’,_ of the washer signifying it’s end of the wash.

“I think it’s super cute!” the silvery haired man chirps happily, breaking the silence easily, all eyes flickering to him.

Kenma flushes and briefly recalls the giants name to be Lev. One of the other teammates, Bokuto, nods enthusiastically, “Oh, definitely! Ignore Kuroo, he’s an idiot! Two-toned hair is obviously the best!” The two step towards him, hands flicking the little bouncy braids, cackling at the display, and cooing about how he’s so small and adorable. The two grab his small hands into larger calloused ones, cradling them delicately in larger, calloused palms, shaking them gentle enthusiasm.

“Let’s be great friends okay?” Lev says with a large grin, while Bokuto croons, “Hey, hey, hey! It’ll be fantastic, don’t worry! Us _fashion forward,_ hair buddies have to stick together! Oh, oh! Lev we should have him come to a party with us!”

“U-uhm okay…?” Kenma mumbles, flustered.

The two babble with each other before being roughly being pulled by the backs of their shirts, sufficiently cutting the two off, each emitting a yelp as they stumbled, revealing an irritated looking Akaashi.

“Knock it off! Lev, learn about personal boundaries for heavens sake, and Bokuto, your idea of ‘fashion forward’, is three-day-old, wrinkled flannel, basketball shorts, mismatched socks, and _loafers_. It’s honestly terrible,” he scolds them harshly, ignoring the gasps and pathetic whimpers of _‘so mean, Akaashi!’,_ allowing them to lick their wounds, and soothe their egos, stepping forward and bowing to Kenma, “Please excuse them, they’re absolute morons.”

“It’s uh… fine,” he coughs, ducking his head and sighing out of his nose.

Seeing as the perfect opportunity to flee the situation, he gestures to the kitchen, just beyond the threshold, backing up a few steps to allow the guests through. “There’s snacks and tea. Please help yourself.”

( _He troughs.)_

He lets them pass him, hungry, ravenous boys chanting happily about free snacks, each saying thank you as they slunk into the kitchen. He begins to slowly slink backwards to his room, unaware that a few gazes, belonging to Kuroo, Akaashi, and Hinata, track each step of his retreat, sighs escaping past their lips, though their thoughts vary on the sight of the small, receding back: _‘I’m an idiot…fuck’, ‘Some behaviors remain the same,’_ and _‘I’ll check on him later,’_ filter through each mind respectively, before turning back to their ravenous group members.

Once his door is solidly clicked shut, he shuffles over to his bed and falls rather ungracefully into the heap of pillows and blankets, hand shifting under the covers to feel out the location of his gaming system and headphones. He stuffs the buds into his ears and pulls his covers up to his chin, eyes squinting against the brightness of his screen as he opens up his game and begins to sluggishly play, mind buzzing uncomfortably in his skull, his gut fluttering with the same feeling that something is changing.

A few hours pass, and he falls into an uneasy sleep, finally understanding what it is that is changing, the proof being the bodies huddled in close together just in his living room. Though, he is unaware of the impact they will leave on him, their imprints of impending love and friendship ever brandishing on his heart and soul.

~❃~

Hinata’s group works well into the night, and they all leave with warm, whispered goodbyes and promises of working again a few times next week. He shuts the door quietly and shuffles his small feet across the floor, pausing in front of Kenma’s door, a frown pulling at the corners of his usually happy lips.

He pads to the door, slowly cracking it open, worn hinges squeaking in protest at the movement. He makes light steps over to Kenma’s bed, sliding up behind him under the comforter, well aware that the older man is awake, by the audible sigh he emitted earlier from the door opening. He wraps his muscled arms around his waist and nuzzles into his neck, frown still in place as he whispers, “Are you okay?”

Kenma blinks into the darkness, eyes heavy and tired, though his body relaxes at the warmth and comforting pressure that emits from Hinata’s body that was pressed up behind him. “Yeah… just a long day,” he mumbles sleepily, eyes fluttering shut.

“Wanna’ talk about it?” Hinata asks, exhaustion peeking through his voice in the form of slurred, groggy words.

Kenma nods a bit, giving his brief description of his day, causing Hinata to chuckle behind him, the vibration of his body reverberating through Kenma’s own, and he too couldn’t help but smile and chuckle along at the ridiculousness of his day. Kenma is slightly surprised when Hinata tells him that he knows the blonde girl, that she's their manager for the volleyball team; though it makes sense, as each of them seem equally at determined and sunny in disposition.

“Yachi is really sweet, though. We should all hang out sometime…Maybe get you a new coffee. I am sorry all this happened today. I still feel kinda’ guilty…” he mumbles into Kenma’s neck.

“’S’okay, really. They’ll probably be over pretty often, huh?” he asks, though he knows the answer will be a ‘yes’.

Hinata nods, “At least a couple of times a week… they’re all really great people. Even Kuroo… he’s not normally like that. He’s actually pretty smooth, so that was pretty strange…” he muses mostly to himself, then a grin splits across his mouth that Kenma can feel across his skin. “Maybe he thinks you’re cute, just like everyone else did,” he teases.

Kenma snorts, “Oh be quiet. If you like them, then I’m sure I will too,” he says simply, sleep tugging at his eyes.

Silence stretches on between them, comfortable and contented, before Kenma murmurs, “Thank you for checking on me.”

“Anytime… thanks for doing laundry,” Hinata murmurs back.

He hums, “Remind me to dry it in the morning.”

Hinata, sighs heavily against his neck and shifts closer, curling around the equally as short man. “Will do. Good night, Kenma.”

“Goodnight, Shōyōu.”

Kenma sleeps undisturbed and peacefully for the first time in days, images of perturbed, black-haired, bed-head swims in and out of dreams, though he would not remember such when he wakens once more.

( _He peaks.)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you and lots of love! xoxox
> 
> See you next time!
> 
> You can come scream about volleydorks with me on tumblr!
> 
> @tangy-tangible-tangelos

**Author's Note:**

> You can come chat with me on tumblr if you would like! 
> 
> @tangy-tangible-tangelos
> 
> See you next time!


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